


Ages

by bunnyfication



Series: alphabet prompt fics [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnyfication/pseuds/bunnyfication
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets of Aziraphale and Crowley through the ages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ages

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2009 for the alphabet meme, prompt was from ginnyvos (lj). Also technically contains major character deaths but only their mortal bodies (so they get better).

Angels do not, as a rule, squirm. Certainly not in front of the Lord, as lying to an omnipercipient being is surely quite impossible, and therefore a wholly ridiculous notion. However, on a particular stormy evening, the angel Aziraphale suddenly had reason to wonder what God's opinion was on...slight and innocent modifications of truth. 

All in all, he had to admit he was somewhat relieved not to be questioned further on the matter. And being told to go and look after the humans, it didn't seem like such a bad task either. Especially after it stopped raining.

Meanwhile, the demon still called Crawly had reason to consider his future as well. He'd simply fled the scene when the Presence approached, not wishing for an uncomfortable reunion. Yet, the more he looked around this new place, the more he liked it. Sure it was a bit too wet and noisy for his liking currently, but it had potential, possibly. 

Besides, as he shared with a certain angel the uncomfortable uncertainty over whether he'd done the right...or in Crawly's case, the **wrong** thing...well, Crawly would take a little thunderstorm over the fury of Hell any day. 

And if he was questioned later on, he could always claim he'd just been following orders. "Get up there and cause trouble." No time limit there, right? He could call it a...long term plan. Yes, that was it.

Content with this, Crawly curled around his tree a bit tighter, hoping the blessed wind wouldn't tear it right of its roots.

*  
Time passed, as it's wont to do. Barren wastelands bloomed, until the tide of fortune turned, and swept them away again. Sometimes literally, into water...or sand. That was how deserts were born.

Crowley wasn't sure what to think about deserts. The heat during daytime reminded him of home, but then again...it also reminded him of home. Besides, deserts got damn **cold** after the sun set. It made his body and mind sluggish and slow. 

Slow enough that when he came across an angel he almost slithered right into him. 

Why was he just lying there? Angels didn't sleep, so...

"Oh, it's you. Aren't the stars pretty like this?" the angel remarked.

Crowley had no particular opinion on the matter.

"Isss cold." he hissed. The angel laughed, in a rather annoying fashion. Easy for him, being warm-blooded and all that...  
Crowley was cold enough that he didn't protest when he was picked up either. He did want to protest the other's amused words, but Crowley felt more like sleeping. 

He didn't need to, obviously, he just liked to. Waking up, however, that he didn't like at all.

Still, Crowley didn't plan to bite the one trying to wake him. It was half the instincts of this form, and half pure demonical mischief. The small surprised noise of pain the angel made as he fell was sort of funny too. The rest...not so much. 

Where did the angel get off looking so accusing. Not like it was even a very painful discorporation. Not that Crowley had tried, but at least it was pretty fast. Still, in the end, when the angel's eyes had gone all milky and clouded over...maybe, just maybe Crowley had to admit...well, nothing really. 

This was what they were supposed to be doing, right? Being adversaries and all that. It was just that dead adversaries were _boring_. Still, that taught the other not try to be _nice_ to him again. 

*

Aziraphale stopped outside the small hut, and coughed politely until a young woman peered outside. She gave him a long, narrow eyed look, but eventually waved him inside. It was easy to look trustworthy when one was an angel. Because they _were_ , of course. For the most part.

Aziraphale personally considered himself trustworthy, anyways.

The young woman was busy preparing food of some sort, the smoke of the small cooking fire hanging inside her small house. She was humming a simple tune as she chopped vegetables, pointing Aziraphale a place to hang his wet clothes to. The rain hit the roof sharply, but out of the storm the noise was more pleasant. 

There was a basket next to the girl, and she gestured for Aziraphale to come look inside it, smiling happily.

"My brother caught a snake today," she explained brightly, putting her hand inside the basket to pet its head. "Gave it wine, so it got all drowsy."

"Oh." Aziraphale said. He must have sounded unenthusiastic to the girl, because she added, frowning slightly.

"Snakes are good luck, you know."

She pet it again, humming, and slowly raised the knife. It glinted in the light of the fire as she slashed downwards. Aziraphale winced.

"Thank you for visiting," the girl chanted, bowing slightly over the dead snake. Then she turned towards Aziraphale, smiling again. 

"Tasty too! Would you like some later?"

"Ah, no thank you...doesn't suit my digestion, I'm afraid..."

*

It started like that, with small grievances that kept escalating...when they actually bothered to fight directly. It was easier to work through people. Then again, after a few centuries of that it got all _too_ easy.

Which lead to Alexandria...

Crowley was a bit drunk at the time, and got a bit carried away with the fire. Even then, burning the library was all fun and games to a point. 

Then there was a very polite cough behind Crowley. He turned slowly, affecting nonchalance despite the holy energy almost scorching him. 

"Yes?" Crowley said, not bothering to look innocent.

Aziraphale just...smiled. And it was terrible to behold.

Neither of them ever talked about it afterwards. 

*

They kept running to each other, here and there.

Once in Islamic Spain.

That time, Aziraphale had just just made the most amazing deal on scriptures, bought from a man who didn't know their value (and more importantly, didn't _deserve to_ the way he'd been treating them). So when he spotted his counterpart, lounging in front of a teashop, he didn't feel any particular desire to smite him.

His hands were full, anyway.

Talking of which, it was a hot day, and he'd been waiting for the chance to lower the scrolls for a minute and drink some tea, but now...ah, now Crowley had noticed him too. Darn.

Aziraphale clutched his scriptures protectively.

"Oy, Angel...please, like I can be bothered to scorch your preciousss books. Take a ssseat, make yourself at home." he waved his arm as if he owned the place, which...he might.

Aziraphale sat down, squinting at his counterpart.

"Crowley, are you...drunk?" he said in alarm.

The demon made another magnanimous gesture.

"Well, why not. Ain't no one telling me I shouldn't...why, if they did, it would mean it would be practically an obli...something I ought to do, no?"

Aziraphale shook his head, appalled.

The demon just grinned at him, the expression strangely free of malice.

"Why, I could even offer you some...and none of that susspicioss expression now, I'm..." he stopped to consider, apparently having lost his train of thought.  
"Taking a break. So you can have one too, right? It'll be...whatsamacallit, _arrangement_. Just for today."

Somehow, despite himself, Aziraphale found himself agreeing.

*

Aziraphale looked at the demon curled up on his sofa. He considered just leaving him there...but he had enough to dust off as it were.

"Crowley, wake up," he said, shaking his shoulder carefully. "Crowley! If you must hibernate do so at home, please." Aziraphale added a bit more sharply.

Then he went to make some more tea.

By the time he came back, Crowley was yawning in a way that made Aziraphale's jaws hurt in sympathy. 

"One would think you'd have gotten used to winter after all these decades." he chided, receiving a dirty look from behind sunglasses.

"Never." Crowley said gruffly. "Remind me again why we're living in this g...dratted country?"

Aziraphale sighed. 

"Remember Spain, back in the Golden Age of Islam? I liked Spain. And I know you liked Greece," Crowley insisted.

Aziraphale gave him a long look. They'd talked about this before.

"Yes, but that was then. You know very well it's not the same anymore. Besides, last time we were on a holiday in Spain you kept complaining about...that."

"Blessed inquisition went and ruined it..." Crowley mumbled morosely.

"Indeed," Aziraphale agreed.

"You know, it's not like you _had_ to follow me back then," he added after a moment.

Crowley gave him a betrayed look.

"Oh, is that so?"

"Mm."

"...it would be inconvenient," Crowley said finally, in an offhand tone, shrugging indifferently.

Aziraphale glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, a secretly amused smile curling his lips. He considered contradicting the other, but it seemed too much trouble.

"Whatever you say, dear."


End file.
